


Relaxation

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean’s going to relax if it kills him. Which he didn't think the world would take as seriously as it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

> You all make me so happy. Thank you. <3

All Jean ever _really_ wanted was to relax. Ever since he was a kid, Sunday afternoons were the best thing to happen all week. Stretched out on a small hill smooshed between two red-roofed Trost houses, staring between cracked tiles at the passing clouds, watching the sky turn an explosion of colors… he could have been content to live this way forever.

Then Zhiganshina happened, and his quiet little life was blown wide open along with the walls keeping safety sheltered inside.

The closest he could get, he figured, was the esteemed corps charged with protecting the King; and why not? Nestled within towering walls and shut behind countless doors, responsible for nothing but keeping His Majesty safe… nothing could touch him. He’d never feel like that lost little boy ever again, so abandoned by his quiet little cattle town that promised peace and quiet and endless skies.

But of course, anything that can go wrong will, he’d quickly learned. His route to safety and quiet would be paved with blood, screams, and dead things, along with a _distinct_ lack of time to sit and not think. Gone were the days of clearing his mind, and in came chaos and madness and despair and Mother Fucking Eren Jaeger.

Seriously, fuck that kid.

Everything about him sets Jean off; that attitude, that pomp, that _girl_ always following him, her sweet smell filling his wake as she speeds to keep up with him… Jean swears that that awful sickly smell was coming from _him_ , like rotted flesh.

Nothing could soothe his nerves when Eren stomped into a room, looking Keen And Pensive, with his stories of Titans and broken cities and kill them kill them killthemkillthem _killthemALL_ —

Jean takes a deep breath. He was lost in thought again, something he’s still unable to get used to. He exhales sharply and takes a swig of his grog. (Really, there is no better word for it.)

The wood bench creaks next to him and he shoots a glance to the side.

Freckles. What’s this kid’s name? Marcus, Mark, something…

“You alright, Jean?”

Shit. Now he has to remember his name. What is it?

“Yeah. Training today, you know.”

“Ah yeah,” MarcusMarkSomethingM replies sheepishly, scratching his head. “Rain’s killer.” Simple dude, huh.

Jean sighs again and pokes at his side dish, whatever it’s supposed to be tonight.

Trainee M stares for a moment, picking his nails. “You were really something, though,” he says after a while.

Raising an eyebrow, the blonde blinks. “Eh?” Eloquent, not so much.

M McFreckles smiles at the table. “You really spurred everyone on. Leading the pack, kind of thing. You make people want to follow you.”

Jean stares. For a while. Then he turns red and buries his face in his grog again, mumbling gratitude into the murky liquid.

The brunette laughs quietly, then gives Jean a rousing slap on the shoulder. “See you in the barracks. Try not to get into another fight, you’ll be running half the night.”

Jean would have protested, but Freckleface is gone before he can even think about not stammering. Damn, they do share a barrack… shit, fuck, what’s his _name_?

Oh well, he thinks with another sigh, piling his dishes onto his tray somewhat haphazardly. It’ll come to him.

And it does, that night, quite unexpectedly. Jean sits bolt upright in the middle of the night, skin boiling under a cold sweat and his dick tenting his sheets with a hardness bordering on _agony_ , visions of black hair dancing at the corners of his thoughts. The lucidity fades fast, but Jean is already up, tearing across the barracks to the bathroom and slamming himself into a stall. He wraps his hands around himself, grasping desperately at the images in his head, the sweet smell he knows he recognizes, black hair and long black eyelashes and heated eyes and—

Jean comes with a choked moan into his hands before he can stop himself, before he can try to change “Marco” into “Mikasa,” before he can force flushed freckles out of his heated consciousness.

The blonde swallows feverishly, eyes wide now. He hastily wipes his hands on his shirt and rips the damned thing off, very much shaken.

Fuck.

No way, he thinks desperately. Mikasa, definitely. Her short—no, long black hair, smooth skin, that sweet smell of… Jean can’t place it until he wipes his sweaty arm against his face and smells barracks-issued soap still fairly fresh on his skin.

He leans his head back against the wall with a thump, anxiously twisting his soiled shirt in his hands.

Sneaking into bed isn’t hard; tired soldiers sleep like the dead. It’s trying to fall back asleep, knowing that the face haunting his dreams sleeps soundly in the bunk directly above him, that keeps him up until the sky starts to gather light again.

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler alert: Mikasa's the smelly one. because I have this headcanon where she just kind of smells like death and despair. but I still <3 her.


End file.
